


Love Spanning Lifetimes

by tansybells



Series: Monsters, Magics, and Mochas [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aged-Up Flayn, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Mush, Human/Monster Society, Multi, Polyamory, Reincarnation, Werewolf Marianne von Edmund
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells
Summary: Cethleann finds herself haunted by memories of the girl she had loved centuries ago. When Marianne suggests that they visit a new, magic-friendly cafe together as a distraction, however, she finds that perhaps those memories are not as distant as they had seemed to be.
Relationships: Flayn/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Marianne von Edmund/Flayn, Marianne von Edmund/Flayn/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Series: Monsters, Magics, and Mochas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043112
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	Love Spanning Lifetimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glitteraga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteraga/gifts).



> This fic is a sequel to [_Full Moon Friendship,_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656443) so if you're wondering how Flayn and Marianne got together in the first place, I'd recommend going back and reading it! 
> 
> Long story short, Marianne is a werewolf, and Flayn—now Cethleann—is a more-or-less immortal weredragon sort of thing. And in case you're worried, Marianne's about 23, and Cethleann's grown up to appear ~22, 23 herself.  
> Enjoy!

Cethleann stares at the sky up above, and sighs. If there were a way for her to transform right now, despite being surrounded by people in the park that she and Marianne sat in, she would take the opportunity right then and there. It would be far better than having to sit and stew in the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

But Marianne was with her, and of course there were dozens of people walking around, so it was not an option.

“What are you thinking about?” Marianne asks, leaning up against Cethleann and wrapping her finger around a green curl. “You’ve been… uh, I don’t know.”

“I am not being as talkative as normal; I am well aware of this.” Cethleann sighs.

“Is it, uh, something you want to talk about?”

“I… do not know, actually.” She frowns. As helpful as it might be to discuss what was on her mind, she did not wish to risk bringing Marianne undue worry. They had been courting for several years, yes, but even with that in mind, she is forever unable to rid herself of the unease that accompanies talking about her centuries of life.

Yet even so, she is comforted enough by Marianne’s unwavering presence in her present-day life that she briefly considers laying her very soul bare before her girlfriend.

“I believe, Marianne, that I have told you about some of my life prior to meeting you, correct?” Marianne nods. “Then… you are well aware of the fact that I have experienced several generations’ worth of lives. Never-ending, never-changing, always… just the same.”

“Until recently.”

Cethleann hums in agreement. Marianne is correct, after all. It was not until the two of them had met that Cethleann had begun to age alongside her. While there was no doubt that the natural span of a werewolf was far shorter than that of a nigh-immortal dragon, true, Cethleann had decided that a millennium of eternal girlhood was enough.

“Until recently, yes.”

And as she had suspected, aging alongside a companion is indeed far preferable to watching them age alone. It is not simply the delight of becoming old enough in the eyes of the law to reclaim her true name, nor is it the joy of being able to wear clothes that flatter the figure she _finally_ has. It is the joy of experiencing life at the same pace as Marianne despite her increased age.

Yet as content as she is with the sweet young woman who stands by her side—as _happy_ as she is—Cethleann finds herself assailed by memories of another flame. Another young woman whom she had long ago failed in exactly that regard.

“Then I hope it does not come as a great surprise to you that, long ago, my heart once belonged to another.” Cethleann speaks slowly, her voice wavering with trepidation as she lays herself bare. It is not as though she had hoped to keep her former paramour secret from Marianne; she can only hope that her girlfriend does not become inundated by the thought that she is not the only person to have owned Cethleann’s heart. “I find myself consumed by thoughts of her, that is all.”

Marianne is silent. Her hand in Cethleann’s hair stills.

Cethleann hurries to assure Marianne, “That is not to say that I do not hold feelings for you! You have been dear to me ever since we met, I promise you this, and while memories may overtake me from time to time, please do not fail to remember that I am far more concerned with ensuring that you understand the extent of my adoration for you.”

For a moment, Cethleann fears that she has made an irreparable mistake. But then her girlfriend sighs, and, gently holding Cethleann’s cheek in the palm of her hand, she repositions herself on the park bench to look at Cethleann more fully.

“I can’t, um... I can’t say that I get it completely.” Marianne speaks quietly, as though even in their seclusion, she worries she shall be overheard. “You’re like a fairytale princess, almost, to me, with how old you are, and being a far more competent, uh, Shifter than I am. So it… I guess it makes sense that you might have had experiences like this before.”

“I am not comparing the two of you.” Cethleann is firm in her refutation. “She was bright, like the sun. She found joy in everything, and while she was but human, she wielded a magic of her own through the beautiful things she made.” She can’t remember the last time she thought about her childhood sweetheart. Even so, she remembers the warmth that she had eternally carried with her. She had been determined to make the most of her life, even if she would easily sleep through the morning if anyone let her, and as Cethleann remembers the shine of her pink hair, the warmth in her deep eyes, she can nearly bring herself to speak her name. Yet for all the love that Cethleann holds for her yet, she cannot rid herself of the irrational fear that speaking her name will somehow bring unrest to her soul.

Blinking, she looks up to see a concerned expression on her girlfriend’s face—and she remembers that as sweet as the past may have been, the truly important thing is the here and now, the life she shares with Marianne.

“But you—” she reciprocates the way Marianne sweetly holds her cheek, “—you are the moon, Marianne. You are gentle and soft, and while you may be as intense, you shine with a light all your own.”

Marianne blushes, and Cethleann finds herself full of the desire to kiss her. But before she leans in to do exactly that, Marianne whispers, “I don’t mean to distract you, but, um, I called you out here because I heard about a new coffee shop that I thought you’d like to try out with me. And, uh, I’m not sure when they close, so if you wanted to—”

“Oh!” Cethleann laughs, and Marianne seems to be comforted by the way the sound rings out across the park. “I had nearly forgotten that there was a purpose to today’s excursion!”

“You _had_ forgotten, silly,” Marianne teases her, and with such a simple phrase, Cethleann knows that all is well between them. “But this place—it’s special, okay? From what I heard,” she lowers her voice, “it’s a place for monsters. For, uh, people like _us._ ”

“For the _People_?” Cethleann’s voice rises with excitement, and Marianne worriedly hushes her.

“Yes, Cethleann, all sorts of People.” Marianne drops her hand from Cethleann’s face and takes hold of her hands. “From what I heard, it’s run by a couple of, um, faeries. At least, I think they’re faeries; I’m not really sure. I haven’t really talked to many others besides you and—and your dad.”

“Then clearly, we have an obligation to fulfill!” Cethleann stands up and pulls Marianne up with her. “As thanks for your kindness and understanding, I shall be the one to pay for our refreshments.”

“B-but I didn’t do anything,” Marianne protests, and Cethleann laughs yet again.

“Then I suppose it shall have to merely be thanks for being the best girlfriend in the world, hm?” Cethleann slips her hand into Marianne’s, and their fingers interlock like it is the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

When they walk into the Different Kettle Café, Cethleann immediately feels at home. She had known of the existence of several other People prior to this moment, yes, but it was not the sort of thing that she could merely walk up to a person and confirm for herself. True, perhaps that was exactly what she had done with Marianne, and _that_ had certainly turned out well, but Cethleann had since been thoroughly scolded by her father and aunt alike for her rash behavior.

But in the café, she is filled with a gleeful certainty that every single person in the store is just like her—likely the work of some ward that keeps clueless mortals from wandering in. There are too many scents mixing in the establishment for her to be able to discern just who is what, but she still knows without doubt that there are at least faeries, selkies, and a vampire to be seen. Perhaps if she were to walk around and greet each person one by one, she would be able to make better use of her draconic skills, but alas, there is nothing to be done about it, for Marianne is already squeezing her hand and asking what she thinks looks most delicious on the menu.

They place their orders with the aid of the beautiful brunette behind the counter, who promises that their drinks will be out shortly.

“Would you find a seat for us?” Cethleann asks Marianne, as she pulls out a few bills from her wallet and gratefully holds them out to the barista, who takes the payment and makes change for her. “Unless, that is, you would prefer to take our drinks and then leave.”

“I think I see one by the window,” Marianne says. With one last squeeze to Cethleann’s hand and a brief, shy kiss to her cheek that makes Cethleann’s heart flutter, she takes her leave.

The barista smiles at them with a knowing, understanding glint to her eye, and then she laughs.

“So, I don’t think I’ve seen you two around here before,” she says as she hands their order back to her coworker. “I thought I knew all the People here in town, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose so.” Self-consciously, Cethleann tucks her hair back behind one pointed ear, leaving it free for the barista—who she now notices has the name _Dorothea_ scribbled across the nametag on her apron—to see. Dorothea clucks her tongue in understanding, though now that she has seen that Cethleann has ears pointed similarly to her own, her already friendly demeanor takes on a more genuine tone. “I did not know that this establishment was in place until but a short while ago. My girlfriend told me about it just before we came.”

“Is that her, over there?” Dorothea cants her head in Marianne’s direction, and Cethleann blushes as she nods. “She one of us, too?”

“Yes, indeed.” Cethleann glances towards Marianne, who smiles at her from the table she has chosen for them. “She should be the one to speak to you on such an intimate matter, however. As kind as you have been, it is not for me to say.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that.” Dorothea leans forward and props her elbows up against the counter. “Not everyone likes talking about themselves right off the bat.”

“Precisely.” Cethleann smiles. “I am sure we shall be returning, though. Perhaps you shall have the opportunity to talk together in the future.”

“Probably!” With a little laugh, Dorothea waves her away. “Alright, then. Enjoy your drinks, and let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Dorothea.”

“Anytime.”

Cethleann moves to rejoin Marianne, but before she can pull out her seat and sit down across the table from her beautiful girlfriend, she hears her name.

“Cethleann!”

Cethleann perks up at the promise of the sweet coffee, cream, and sugar that is soon to be coursing through her veins, and she turns around to hurry towards the counter.

Once again, the barista’s voice rings out across the restaurant, veritable music to her ears.

“I’ve got a blended caramel mocha and a hot mint tea for, uh, _Cethleann_?”

In these modern times, when her name is synonymous with ancient religions of yore and her existence is regarded as naught but myth, it is only in the deepest annals of academia that she hears the proper pronunciation. And considering the great boredom that such academia overwhelms her with, it is exceedingly rare for her to hear her name spoken correctly by anyone beside Marianne and her immediate family.

She wants to sing with delight; it is only because Marianne yet waits for her drink that she does not. Even with that caveat, however, she does not dare restrain her glee.

“No one has ever pronounced my name correctly before,” Cethleann says, her voice trilling with surprise as she picks her drink up. There is no condensation on the plastic to dampen her palms, but the chill of her frozen drink in one hand and the heat of Marianne’s tea in the other provides a silent, grounding comfort. “Not on the first try, that is.”

“Well, duh? It’s _such_ a pretty name. Like, I _love_ it.”

Her pulse quickens with anxiety; Cethleann gently raps her fingernails against the clear plastic. It feels almost as though her entire life has built to this moment, and the fear of being incorrect is insurmountable.

“Well, thank you very much. I appreciate, uh—” She finally looks up, to convey her gratitude more precisely, and her heart stops.

The world around her draws to a standstill.

The barista flips her hair, and the sun catches the bright pink color enchantingly. Her deep pink eyes shine out at her with a cheerful intensity that speaks to Cethleann’s soul in a way she has not felt since—not since she had been with _her,_ centuries ago.

The name bubbles up from her chest and out of her mouth, unbidden.

“—Hilda?”

“Uh, yeah?” The barista smiles at Cethleann, and Cethleann absolutely melts beneath the warmth of her familiar radiance. “That’s my name; don’t wear it out.”

Cethleann stammers; her mind grinds to a halt. She could not believe her eyes. It is—it is _Hilda,_ right there, standing there before her! There is no doubt about it!

Cethleann _knows_ the planes and angles of her face, the curve of her body—her skin is pinker than Cethleann remembers, yes, and there is a distinct point to her ears, an inhuman glint to her eyes that the Hilda of her past had not possessed—but she knows them to be the same nonetheless. Cethleann’s lips part, ever so slightly, as she breathes the once-forbidden name one time more.

_Hilda._

“Oh, right!” Dorothea pipes up. “I was gonna tell you, Hilda, but you forgot to put your name tag on, _again_.”

“Shit!” Hilda’s expression darkens. “I can’t get chewed out by Manuela again. Not after last time. But...” she turns to Cethleann with confusion swirling in her eyes. “How’d you know my name? Not that it’s a big deal, I mean—”

“I follow you on Instagram!” Cethleann blurts out. It is a lie, which she is greatly ashamed of, but she cannot imagine that someone as pretty as Hilda would _not_ take part in social media. To her relief, that seems to set Hilda at ease.

“Okay, cool! It’s always neat to meet a follower.” Blissfully unaware of Cethleann’s mental turmoil, Hilda tilts her head to the side and prompts her with, “Did you need something else?”

Mute, Cethleann shakes her head.

Apparently considering her work to be done, Hilda turns away to attend to the next order, and Cethleann returns to sit by Marianne. She moves sluggishly, as though walking through a thick layer of fresh snow, and by the time she is finally able to set down their drinks, her limbs are so leaden that she falls into her seat with barely-concealed relief.

Hilda lives.

What a thought!

Clearly, she was not the same Hilda that Cethleann had once snuck out from under her father’s watchful gaze with, nor was she the Hilda with whom Cethleann had experienced her first kiss. They had been too young yet to experience many of the other ‘firsts’ that romance novels commonly extolled the virtues of, but it would be nearly impossible for someone as sentimental as Cethleann to fully forget her first love.

Cethleann only wishes that she might have known how the Hilda of her past had lived the rest of her life. They had been made to part when Cethleann’s father had decided it was time for them to move on, and at the time, there had been no such convenient things as _cell phones_ or _emails_ with which to communicate.

Absentmindedly, she feels around for the top of her straw.

“—leann.”

She closes her lips around the straw and pulls on her drink; the pain of her memories is momentarily frozen out by the sweet chill of her coffee. She sighs contentedly.

“ _Cethleann._ ” She looks up to see that Marianne is staring at her with eyes full of concern. The hot tea that she’d ordered has been ignored, apparently, and Cethleann feels a pang of guilt at her distracted state.

“Cethleann, I’ve been trying to get your attention for a little while now.” Marianne reaches out and places a slender hand on top of Cethleann’s. “Is everything okay? You’ve been acting off since you came back with our drinks.”

Her palm is warm against Cethleann’s skin. Cethleann turns her hand over so she can hold Marianne’s hand. “It is not anything I want to worry you about right now,” she says, filling her voice with as much warmth and reassurance as she can muster. “It is merely…” As she mulls over her words, she clicks her tongue. “I have been reminded of bygone years, that is all.”

She smiles hesitantly, and to her relief, Marianne smiles back.

“I trust you, Cethleann.” Marianne squeezes her hand. “If it’s something that really bothers you, I’m sure you’d tell me about it.”

“Absolutely.” Cethleann takes another sip of her sugary drink. Apparently satisfied with her answer, Marianne finally lifts the lid from her cup of tea and, pulling out the teabags, sets them down on a napkin prepared for this very purpose.

The next few minutes are full of easy, companionable conversation. Such companionship is one of the things that Cethleann loves so much about Marianne. Marianne is quiet enough that Cethleann feels no guilt about chattering on endlessly as she is wont to do. Yet on the other hand, when Marianne finds a topic that she is passionate about, Cethleann can find no greater joy than what she finds in watching the way her girlfriend’s eyes shine.

Every so often, though, Cethleann notices Marianne’s eyes slipping to the side. And when she decides she is sneaky enough to be able to follow Marianne’s gaze, she realizes that the focus of her attention is, much to her surprise, the very woman who has captivated Cethleann herself. Hilda.

“What do you think she is?” Cethleann asks, her voice trembling with excitement despite the murmurous tone she feels compelled to adopt while in the café. “I can only imagine that she must be some sort of faerie, considering how pink her complexion is. A flower faerie, perhaps. It would suit her.”

Marianne starts, as though she had not expected Cethleann to notice that she continuously glances Hilda’s way. “I—I don’t know what she could be,” she murmurs shakily, and she takes another sip of tea as though doing so will move the conversation along somehow. “And don’t you think it’s rude, guessing what she might be? I know _I_ wouldn’t like it if people looked at me and could tell that I’m, um, a werewolf.”

Cethleann shrugs. For some reason, she does not find it threatening that Marianne is obviously interested in Hilda, for whatever reason. Perhaps it is because she knows that she herself is capable of holding more than one person in her heart at a time, but she knows from experience that while some things may seem perfectly natural to her, being a dragon, it is rare for Marianne to feel the same confidence. That much has been incredibly apparent from the very night they first met.

“Even so. She is very pretty, is she not?” Setting her chin on the base of her palm, Cethleann allows her gaze to fall towards the barista as well. Hilda is chattering on excitedly about something, though Cethleann is too distant to have any clue as to what she is talking to Dorothea about. “She is the one who prepared our drinks, actually. Her name is Hilda.”

Marianne hums with interest, and Cethleann hesitates. While she likes to ensure that Marianne worries as little as possible because of her, she is not fond of keeping secrets from Marianne. And now that the topic of Hilda has been brought to the forefront of their conversation, she feels compelled to be honest with her girlfriend. Honesty is the best policy, as one might say, and Cethleann certainly believes that to be the case when it comes to the holder of her heart.

“Do you recall what we spoke about earlier today?” Cethleann hazards, and Marianne turns her attention back towards her. “About, well, the young woman with whom I was involved some centuries ago?”

Her brows furrowing together, Marianne nods. Cethleann feels her pulse begin to pick up. Her tongue feels leaden. But just as she has so many times, she soldiers on.

“I… Well, that is, the Hilda we see today is very nearly the spitting image of the Hilda I once loved. I have encountered instances of reincarnation before, and I believe that—”

Marianne pales before her, her eyes widening in panic, and ever so slightly, she shrinks away from Cethleann.

“I—I understand,” she murmurs. “It would only be right for me to—to, um, I should back off, right? If you already have a history with her, I mean, and you still love her—”

“What? No!” Cethleann stares at Marianne in shock. “Of course not! What a preposterous notion! I have already made a commitment to you, Marianne, and to break that merely because I have come across someone I once held affection for—that would be nothing short of _cruel,_ my love.” She reaches across the table to hold both of Marianne’s hands in her own. “I assure you, Marianne. I may have the space in my heart to love more than one person, but that does not in any way diminish my love for you.”

Her lips curved down in a concerned frown, Marianne stares down at their conjoined hands. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Cethleann lifts Marianne’s hands and brushes her lips against the backs of her hands. “Marianne, I would not dare do anything without your blessing to back me. Why, if it would please you that the both of us expressed our interest—”

“ _Our_ interest?” Marianne squeaks, caught off guard. “What—Who— _How—_ ”

Cethleann giggles. “I am more than capable of using my eyes,” she informs her girlfriend. “It appears to me that you are just as intrigued by her as I am, but without the added… intrigue from having possibly known her in a past life. Am I correct in this?”

Marianne opens her mouth to say something, closes it as she thinks, and then finally opens it again to say, “M-maybe. I didn’t get to talk to her, but she’s definitely—”

“Stunning? Transcendent? Ethereal? Captivating?”

“Um, she’s very pretty.”

“She is; she is, indeed.”

To Cethleann’s glee, Marianne breaks into a lovely giggle of her own. She lets go of Marianne’s hands so Marianne can cover her mouth and her blush with her hands, as she often does when laughing. Cethleann laughs alongside her, utterly entranced by the way Marianne’s embarrassed delight fills the air around them with music.

“I guess… are you sure this would be something you’re okay with?” Marianne murmurs from beneath her hands once her laughter dies down. “I don’t want to make you feel bad or—or _jealous,_ or anything like that.”

“Listen.” Cethleann takes a sip of her drink. “I am just as interested in her as you are, dear one. But if anything, I would merely be overjoyed to see that you are receiving the vast amounts of adoration and affection that you objectively deserve.”

“But—how do we even _go about_ something like this?” Marianne asks. “Do you just—do you just _ask_ her?”

Cethleann hums thoughtfully. Then, the feet of her chair squeal against the floor as she stands up and reaches for Marianne. “Yes,” she declares, pulling Marianne up to her feet. “I believe that that is _exactly_ what we must do!”

“Fl— _Cethleann_!” Marianne exclaims, but she allows Cethleann to pull her along, nonetheless. “Are you _sure_?”

“Hilda!” Cethleann sings, glancing back towards Marianne and winking at her before turning back to the counter. “Hilda, may we have a moment of your time, please?”

With work-glazed eyes, Hilda looks up from whatever task has her hands occupied. She blinks, registering Cethleann and Marianne, who makes an attempt to hide behind Cethleann despite being several inches taller, and then the tiredness that seemed to have overwhelmed her dissipates entirely. If Cethleann is not imagining it, the scent of flowers fills the air around them where there had previously been nothing to smell but coffee. Hilda seems to _glitter,_ to Cethleann’s amazement. She glances over her shoulder to see that Marianne seems just as impressed.

“Yeah?” Hilda asks, wiping her hands down on a nearby towel before setting them firmly on her hips. “Can I help you, or something?”

Cethleann beams back at her. “Yes, you can!” she chirps. Hilda lifts a perfectly manicured brow, and Cethleann continues on. “My partner, Marianne, and I—well, we both find you exceptionally attractive, and we were discussing the possibility of asking you out!”

Hilda blinks at her, confused, and out of the corner of her eye, Cethleann can see Marianne shrinking away in embarrassment.

“ _Cethleann_!” Marianne hisses from behind. “I thought you were going to start by asking if she’s interested in women!”

“I merely thought it would be preferable to get it over with!” Cethleann protests, and Marianne blushes in shame.

“We can’t ever come back here again,” she replies. “We finally find a monster-friendly place, and we can’t show our faces here ever again.”

“Surely it is not so dire as that,” Cethleann soothes her, reaching back to pat Marianne’s hand comfortingly. “She may say no, but I shall gladly return to fetch tea for you no matter what.”

“Yeah, sure.” With a shrug, Hilda interrupts Cethleann and Marianne. “Why not? I’ll try anything once.”

“Truly?” Cethleann looks at her with surprise, though she cannot deny the rush of elation that surges through her at Hilda’s answer. “Did you hear that, Marianne?”

“I did, I did—” Marianne steps to stand beside her, and Cethleann looks up to see the most glorious smile on her partner’s face.

“So, when do you wanna hook up?” Hilda asks with a toss of her hair. “I get off at work at, like, _nine_ tonight if you guys just want a quickie.”

Cethleann’s eyes widen as she realizes the impression she has unwittingly given Hilda. She meets Marianne’s eyes in a panic, and she notices that her girlfriend has the same horrified expression.

“We meant—we meant on a _date,_ ” Marianne sputters, “not—”

“ _Oh._ ” Hilda flushes. The floral scent that Cethleann had noticed earlier intensifies as tiny little pink flowers sprout throughout her hair. “A _date,_ then. With, uh, Marianne and Cethleann.” She pauses. “Yeah, I think that’d be okay.”

“She has _flowers_ ,” Cethleann whispers in awe.

From further down the counter, she hears Dorothea whistle their way.

“Get it, girl!” she calls, and Hilda only turns a brighter pink as she rummages around in the pockets of her apron for a scrap of paper and something to write with.

“Text me, okay?” she says, leaning over to write her number on the paper. When she looks up to hand her number over to Cethleann, she also plucks one of the flowers from her hair and reaches out to tuck it behind Cethleann’s pointed ear. “Here, Marianne, you too.”

With a blush of her own, Marianne leans forward, and Hilda places another flower in her braid. Cethleann beams up at Marianne, marveling at the stark contrast of Hilda’s pink flower against Marianne’s blue hair, then claps her hands together happily.

“Then it shall be a date!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all, and welcome to my little playground! It was built from a constant need to write monster/magic AUs, so these are all gonna be...loosely tied together, let's say. I plan on writing a Dorothea-centric piece later on that sorta helps explain the world and the structure later, and hopefully that helps a bit. In case you're curious, Dorothea is a faerie (as is Manuela), and Hilda is _coughs_ a delicate flower nymph. 
> 
> Honestly, I'm flying by the seat of my pants. I love it. All the wlws, all the monsters. 
> 
> Thanks to [Lola](https://twitter.com/pastafrutti) for both the idea and for running [Hildacember](LINK), and my eternal gratitude to [Lily](twitter.com/spiderlilywrite) for her beta/editing work. 
> 
> And thank _you_ for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts. 
> 
> Have a wonderful day ♡


End file.
